


Push Through

by ascientistfortonight



Series: A Hundred Bad Days [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, tags tba as chapters are added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascientistfortonight/pseuds/ascientistfortonight
Summary: Shimada Sojiro's passing changed a great many things. Family ties had already been mere threads before the event, but as a new young master inherits the family business, the world changes. The youngest of the Shimada sons sees this, and he sways with the wind where others threaten to break.Not many look upon this with kind eyes.
Series: A Hundred Bad Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587934
Kudos: 2





	Push Through

Cherry blossoms seemed to be everywhere this year. Glowing blurs of soft pink scattered across the ground, drifting into open buildings now and again or onto people's shoulders. The smallest of children always look up and watch the petals fall or could be found playing in a pile of them, so easily entertained. How kind the world must be to allow such simple innocence. People seemed to smile more, a gentleness to their expressions. The world seemed brighter, more at peace as spring warmed everywhere it touched.

Sunlight, unobstructed by the nearly cloudless sky, caught every fluttering petal, drawing the youngest one's attentions even more. Such a beautiful spring. He sat watching the world go about its business, unaware of - or perhaps politely ignoring - the events to unfold today.

Death in the family isn't so common to him, but he's too young to really know it anyway. Their father died a mere two days ago, and while Genji had stayed close last night, he wasn't the one to watch over their father's body, too distant from him even in life to feel like he belonged. In the glory of the morning light, however, he finally wonders if he should have joined Hanzo and their mother anyway.

Everything is about to change. Genji knows this. All those years learning from Mother and preparing for this but it does nothing to quell the anxiety gouging its claws into his gut, his chest. Soon, probably tomorrow or the next day, Hanzo will be elevated to Oyabun, himself gaining the same title as well, but without the same power his brother will have. Second in line, secondary power and influence. It would have been easier on everyone if they just loosed Genji to the world, let him go free like he's always wanted.

But he wouldn't dare voice such a wish. No, he has the blood of the dragons in his veins, an ancient arcane ability that shackles him forever to the Shimada Clan. The addicting glimpses of freedom and escape will only ever be that. Fleeting glimpses.

Swallows past the acidic bitterness on his tongue and finally gets to his feet, turning away from the cheerful sights far below him and heads back through the grounds, trying to shift his thoughts away from _that_ slippery slope.

This whole funeral process takes place at home, the shrine to the dragon gods that had blessed the family with their arcane power now closed off to all but the closest relatives. Thankfully that didn't quite include the elders; he's not sure he could handle their poisonous looks right now. Hanzo and Mother have been awake all night. Think about that instead. They're more than likely tired, but much still needs to be done. Long nights weren't new to him, and often he took the edge off with some matcha if he wanted to be sober. They'd probably appreciate the caffeine. With that in mind, he took the long way around for the kitchen, knowing that the servants of the castle are up well before the sun but maybe he'll get lucky and avoid them for a few minutes more.

Golden morning light drifted in though the windows and birds sang without care. The decorated hallways smelled of cotton and lavender, sakura and honey. Springtime. How effortless the world made existence seem, how pointless his growing anxiety seemed in the face of such absolute peace. Perhaps, in a bit, he'll try his hand at meditation again. Maybe he'll make it further than ten minutes this time. Patience is not his strong suit.

It's something to work on. The more practice he gets before he actually needs it, the better.

His journey inevitably ended and he stood outside his destination. After a split second pause, he poked his head in the door, the kitchen busy as ever. Waited to catch someone's attention and gently asked for a few cups of matcha, hot and sweetened with honey.

Stood outside the door for a few minutes, fighting the urge to tap his foot so he took out his phone to try and distract himself. He had notifications, of course he did, but his gaze slid from it all like it wasn't even there. Shoved his phone back in his pocket, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. Let his head tilt back and closed his eyes. Tried to breathe and ease the persistent stabbing ache in his chest. Sometimes acknowledging it helps. Sometimes it just takes patience.

Patience is not his strong suit.

Just breathe. Loosened his shoulders, then his chest. In, out. The day'll be over before he knows it and then..

And then he has to pretend for the rest of his life that he's actually doing something every time an Elder's gaze is on him. Suddenly his breathing exercise felt less like attempting to calm himself and more like preparation for tenfold misery. The kitchen door couldn't have opened at a better time.

A gentle murmur of thanks and a smile in return from the kitchen aid, and he took his tray back across the grounds, shrine ever in sight. Up the stairs leading to the gardens, take a right into the shrine, ignoring the impressive view into the empty room, down the steps and into the back room. Dark, heavy curtains hang in the hallway, a clear _restricted access._ The young Shimada clenches his jaw, braces himself, and pushes past it.

The room beyond is quiet and warm. A gentle, kind glow drifts down from the old wooden ceiling in the room beyond, layer upon layer of lanterns tucked into shallow, built-in cubbies. He can hear a quiet song drifting down the hall. The air is thick with the smell of lavender incense, heavier than the curtain he just passed through, clearly meant to mask the smell of death. For half a second, he considers ducking back outside just to grab a last lungful of clean air.

Steps further down the short hallway and rounds the corner. He knows what to expect to see, but at the same time, he's not sure what sight he'd be met with.

Pillows, blankets, a few trays of burning incense, and a table with a grand coffin with a white sheet over it. Beside it sat Genji's mother, looking exhausted, like she'd been crying. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun, loose and gently messy. Tucked against the far wall was a small speaker and a phone connected to it, switching tracks as Genji's attention flicked to it. The room was empty otherwise. In the middle of the room sat a single elevator, and while normally one could see if the car was there, it was gone now. Someone must be downstairs.

"Genji," his mother greeted, her voice soft and maybe just a touch ragged. He smiled gently in return. "Come, sit with me."

"I brought some matcha," he says, making sure the drinks were set safely down on the floor before joining his mother there. Sits in a seiza, and passes her one of the steaming cups.

"Thank you, Genji." She takes the cup and takes a sip without letting it cool further. Lets her eyes close for a moment. Opens them again and smiles over the rim of her drink, saying, "I didn't expect you to be home. I thought you would be out somewhere nursing a hangover."

"Maybe I should be," he shrugs a little. "But I know this is something I need to be home for."

"Your father would appreciate that." A pause. "I know you and he never really got along, but he did care for you, you know." Genji just shrugged again, decidedly keeping his mouth shut.

"Where is Hanzo?" he asks instead, changing this subject - something his mother thankfully allows.

"He's downstairs, taking care of some business."

"Oh. I brought him some tea too."

"Drink it. I'm sure he'll be a while. No use in letting it go cold."

He takes the cup on the tray and sips at it, wondering if it would have been wiser to ask for three cups instead of two, but he had expected to simply drop off the drinks and move on before Hanzo could force Genji to sit and stay. He stayed because his mother asked him to, sure, but only because it was his mother.

They sit in the gentle quiet, listening to the music he assumes his mother had put on. All of it is instrumental, calm. It sounds like a modern addition to traditional music, strings accented by harmonics and piano. It's nice.

"Your father used to listen to this kind of music all the time," his mother said, setting down her now empty cup, a tiny trail of matcha drifting back down into her bowl. "Used to say it was the only thing keeping his blood pressure down." Again, he keeps his mouth shut. She needs to talk, he knows this, though he can't help but be a touch bitter; she's had all night to reminisce with Hanzo about Father, and she _knows_ how Genji feels about him. Why is she doing this now?

"He loved that sakura tree you like to sit under." He knows the one. He was just out there this morning, overlooking the city and the distant mountain that takes up a good part of the horizon. From down in the city, one could barely see it from behind all the buildings, but here at the castle, the view goes majorly unobstructed. "He had it planted when you were born, you know. Picked the spot himself and used to worry those first few years if the rains would wash the tree right off the hill." She chuckles, and Genji smiles in return.

In the back of his mind, he thinks, _'Could have picked a better spot for it.'_ It sits precariously on the edge, ever in danger of a strong enough wind toppling it over. He's felt the sway of its branches plenty of times over the years, used to it by now. "Mom, you know sakura trees don't live very long," he murmurs, dipping his chin a little.

"I know, and he did too. When he planted it, he'd said that he hoped you would make a good life for yourself before it dies." She pauses then, concern that Genji turns his eyes from filling her gaze. "I hope you can at least prove him right on this one thing, Genji." The care in her voice makes his heart ache dully, and he turns his attention down to his nearly empty mug, the beginnings of a frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

If Father had wanted a better life for his youngest son, why didn't he do anything to make it possible? The best thing his father had done for him was keep the Elders off his back, if even that. He guesses he appreciates that, but there was only so much that that even managed. What venom that couldn't reach Genji's ears was instead dripped into Hanzo's, a practice that Genji has seen and tried to warn his brother about for years.

A chime rung out in the room and two sets of eyes turned to the elevator in the middle of the room, the light above the closed doors shining bright. Someone is coming up.

"Guess I'd better go," Genji murmurs, gut clenching as he cuts a glance over at his mother.

"The funeral is at six," she replies. "Don't be late." He gets to his feet, collects his mother's mug and returns it to the tray, and makes a swift escape, leaving the mugs behind; there'll be servants coming to check on them in a bit anyway. When he makes it to the heavy curtains and pushes past them, he hears the elevator doors open and his mother's muffled voice.

Fresh, cooler air hits his face and he breathes out the lavender and breathes in the chill, feeling his lungs clear. He doesn't know how his mother handled that for so long. Maybe she just doesn't smell the incense anymore.

He strolls down through the grand empty shrine, casting his gaze out to the big balcony overlooking the city. Maybe he'd spend more time out there if he could even stand being in the shrine. The outside world beckons to him and he obliges easily, slipping his hands into his pockets and strolls out the front entrance. Behind him, his name is called out, but it's not his mother, so he acts like he didn't hear. No one stops him.

He's glad to leave the shrine behind, tension slowly easing out of his shoulders as he made his way back to the back gate. The big gates are almost always locked up and, in his opinion, mostly just for show, but there's a door that lets out into the city beyond. He passes through with barely a glance from the guard posted there, and he's free.

Rikimaru is just down the road, the smell of heavenly ramen in the air and chasing out the last bits of lavender from Genji's nose. His stomach rumbles and he smiles in response. The world outside the walls is _alive,_ people making their way around the blocks, children running into the arcade across the street from the ramen shop, parents in tow. Maybe he'll go and check up on his high scores later tonight; right now, a beautiful day calls for good comfort food.

Heads on inside and grins at the greeting when the sensor goes off, returning a friendly greeting of his own. The place is fairly empty, something Genji had expected; Rikimaru opens early enough for those hungry for breakfast, and some days it's just a hit or miss.

"Genji!" one of the cooks exclaim as he takes a seat at the bar. He's a sweetheart, maybe just a few years older than Genji himself but so easy to flirt with and fluster. He's pretty sure he's secondborn of the Yamamoto family, a family the Shimadas have protected for a good few decades now, but for the life of him, he can't remember the guy's name. "You should be at home! This is a time of mourning for you!"

The young Shimada simply rolled his eyes, saying, "It never said I can't have breakfast after the wake, so that's what I'm doing." Grins and adds, "Besides, maybe I just wanted to see you again."

And to his delight, a gentle dusting of pink spread across Yamamoto's cheeks and he pointed his ladle at him. "No, none of that. _Time of mourning._ " Ignores Genji's soft _'yeah, yeah.'_ "Now. Spicy or regular today?"

"Spicy, please. Could you add in two extra eggs today?"

"Oh?" Yamamoto asked as he offered Genji an oshibori. The cotton is nice and warm, bringing life to his cold fingers. The cook turned his back to the counter to fix up a bowl, and Genji could practically see his thoughts turning to how often the extra eggs had been called his _hangover helper._ A joke always met with either rolling eyes or a blank stare. Oh well. It's funny to Genji, and that's enough.

"No, don't you give me that tone," he grins, folding the oshibori after a moment and setting it on the bar before him. "I've been home, I'm just really hungry right now. Sitting still really takes a lot out of you." Even though he half wishes he'd given in to habit and left the grounds last night. Dealing with all.. _this_ is barely worth it. But he knows it would have looked bad if he'd been in the public eye, very obviously missing the wake.

Public opinion. Ugh.

Yamamoto returns with a steaming bowl of ramen, a pair of chopsticks, and a tiny paper envelope as Genji continues. "Did you know," he says, ignoring the bowl for a moment, "that westerners can't sit in a seiza for more than a few minutes before they have to move?"

"So I've heard, but have you seen it yourself?"

"A few times, actually. They have to sit on a stool. _Like an old person."_ They both snicker and Genji unwraps a pair of silicone chopstick tips, eyebrows raising. "Oh, the _fancy_ chopsticks."

The chef laughs again, looking like he wants to lean against the counter as the young Shimada assembles his chopsticks. "Yeah, we've only managed to get a few pairs for now, but next month we're hoping to finally replace our disposable ones. Save the Earth, right?"

"I can't believe we still have to worry about that." He taps the butt ends of the fancy sticks against the table, adding a quick little, "Itadakimasu."

"I heard that Omniums that had turned intentionally tried to burn holes into the ozone."

"I heard that too. Apparently my father had been sending out relief efforts since the Crisis. Not much he could do about the ozone, though." Took the opportunity to eat one of the eggs in his bowl, a bit of the broth's flavor soaked in already. The cook turned away with a sympathetic 'your father was a good man' and 'I should check on the kitchen.' Genji lets him go with an acknowledging hum, watching him disappear into the kitchen that separates the two halves of the floor.

There's a second dining area that faces the Shimada gates, but he doesn't like eating there if he doesn't have to. Too many times has his collar quite literally been grabbed and he'd been dragged back onto the grounds by his older brother or, more recently, some guard sent in his place.

He hasn't seen much of Hanzo in these past few months. While he knows that maybe that shouldn't really hurt him, he can't help but feel a little stung by it. They had never really been close, and some days it just felt like they've been avoiding each other or strictly professional whenever they had to share a room for more than five minutes. And maybe Genji himself is somewhat to blame; he _did_ avoid Hanzo barely ten minutes ago. 

Despite the numerous times their mother had tried to get them to get along, no matter how out of his way Genji went to reach out to his brother, they always faced the next day with the same strange wall between them. He's not sure who to really blame for _that. _And while he's a bit sore that he can't connect to his older brother, he's long since learned to stop trying so hard. But, come to think of it, has Hanzo even made effort himself lately? Can either of them even remember the last time Hanzo said something first that wasn't business related? When did he stop caring? Why does that realization hurt?__

____

____

His food vanished as he lost himself in his thoughts. Some part of him grumbles that he forgot to enjoy his breakfast, but it's quieted as he brings the bowl to his lips and drinks the rest of the broth. As he brings the bowl back down to the counter, the sliding panel that cuts off the kitchen opens, and Yamamoto slips through the tiny gap, closing it behind him.

"This turned out fantastic as always," Genji praises, noticing a moment too late that something seemed off in the cook's expression.

"Thank you," he says, "but this will be on us today. Get going, and keep an eye out for wolves." Genji's eyes widen in the slightest, and something heavy drops hard into his gut. He nods and gets to his feet, quick to get out the door. A glance down the street, towards the massive Shimada gates, and he darts down the other direction. 

The wolves. It'd started as a joke, something to call the men Hanzo sent after Genji, but it was easy to see how they lived up to the nickname. They were efficient trackers, sent out in what feels like a swarm - despite the fact that there's never more than five. He's gotten better at avoiding them, just as they've gotten better at finding him. What are they even doing being sent out like this? The funeral isn't for another several hours. Is Hanzo that lazy that he can't walk a few dozen feet from the gates to find his brother?

Whatever. Genji makes his way around the corner and down the street, hoping to get lost in the crowd when he hits the main road. With luck, Hanzo doesn't have a clothing description today. With luck, no one on the grounds snitched. Why would Hanzo even want Genji home today? He didn't make effort last night to have him there for the vigil, only the wake.

As he hits the main road, he spares a glance back the way he came. No pursuit. Whatever that was, Genji's far from it. A flicker of a smile and the youngest Shimada vanishes into the city.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on making this a three part series, following Genji through it all. This is gonna be a long ride, but it'll be worth it.


End file.
